


sober sundays

by inacolloquialsense



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 04:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12148713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inacolloquialsense/pseuds/inacolloquialsense
Summary: many ways to say i love you. in a rural town they find a few





	sober sundays

In some parts of the south apparently alcohol cannot be sold on Sunday. This is new information to Quinn.

“What are you saying?” He questions.

The server stood firmly and repeated himself. “I can’t give you any alcohol. It’s Sunday. I’m sorry, sir. The whole county is like this.”

“What about a beer?” He’s nothing if not persistent.

A slow sigh escapes his lips, and he looks at Q like he’s a kid trying to put the square peg in the round hole. “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t do that. We do not sell alcohol on Sundays. Would you like some sweet tea instead?”

His plans for the evening just got more boring. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Murr seems unperturbed by the issue and smiles as he says, “I’ll take an iced tea. Thank you.” The server leaves them to get their drinks together.

Brian crosses his arms. “Can you believe this bullshit. I’ve had sobriety forced onto me.” He huffs. “Why would they make a law like that?”

“Q, you went to Catholic school for four years.” He doesn’t look up from his menu.

The hard laminated plastic makes a wobbly sound as he moves it to stand in front of his face. Two can play at this game. “Yeah and you got drunk with me on communion wine.” Quinn murmurs bitterly under his breath.

Murr watches the makeshift fort fall after a strategic blow from his own menu. “It was your idea.” His eyebrows lower into a glower.

The waiter drops off two glasses filled with tea, interrupting their staring match. “Ahem. Do you know what you would like to order?”

Taking the menus up and handing them over, Quinn says. “Two cheeseburgers with fries. Extra mustard on both.” 

“Sure thing.” He seems relieved to be able to leave.

“I hate mustard, and I wanted the pulled pork basket.” Murr takes a sip of his drink.

“I know.” Brian bites off the paper end of the straw cover. Puts his lips to the exposed plastic and blows. “If I’m not happy neither of us can be.”

Direct hit. “Oh. Very mature.” He says, unamused and face flat.

“I know.” He does the same with the other straw. Both go in his drink and he inhales a mouthful before sputtering. “What is this?” It’s obnoxiously sweet, and his mouth feels coated with it. 

“What you ordered.” Murr holds his cup away as Quinn’s hands make a grabby motion towards it. “Get your own.”

The cushions squeal when he shifts in his seat. “Why are we here?” 

“You offered to be my navigator.” James pushed the glass of ice tea to him. “I accepted.” He watched Brian drink greedily.

Q licked his lips. Somehow he was still thirsty. He tilted the cup back until ice fell on his tongue. With a deft swipe the chill moved to one side of his mouth, so he could speak, looking similar to a chipmunk. “I didn’t want you driving three days on your own. You’d be half way to Saskatchewan without me.” He bit down, marveling at the volume of the crunch.

“Yeah.” Murr took the cup back and plucked a big piece out for himself. Drew moisture slowly as he sucked on it. “Thanks.”

The server brought their orders. After a small exchange Quinn got two burgers and Murray was promised his meal shortly. They both got a tall glass of water.

Four bites in and Q offers Murr a taste. “It’s good. Wanna try?” Thick yellow oozed down the neat cross sections where Brian’s teeth had bitten.

“No.” The stench stung his nose as the other man spoke. Sharp and pungent.

“Suit yourself.” He finished his first in relative silence.

There is a mini jukebox on the end of the table, attached to the wall. Murr pokes the buttons to cause the cards to flip. He doesn’t know whether to feel old or nostalgic at how many of the songs he can recognize from adolescence.

Memories distract him from the music itself. A warbling voice sings to him about lost love, and he stares at Q. They heard it on the radio first. In his beat up jalopy with speakers older than dirt. Sweating in crumpled school uniforms.

Brian recognizes it, too. Slows his voracious eating and wipes his mouth with a napkin. He wants to say something, but what is there? You remember how we used to love each other? Back when there wasn’t a four drink minimum to say ‘I like you.’ Was it more time or life that jaded us?

Murray breaks the mutual look, drinks his water. Sets it down and drags his finger around the wet circle his glass had made. “Did things use to be better?” He asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe less complicated.” Quinn dips a fry in ketchup, chews it thoughtfully. “Things are pretty good now, considering.”

“Hmmm.”

Brian watches him take the other plate. Flip off the top bun and meticulously scrape it clean with a butter knife. “I was gonna eat that.”

“No you weren’t.” James takes a bite. A sour heat hits his palate, and he wants to gag. Murr swallows it down and eats more. Not looking away from Q.

He puts his elbow on the table and rests his jaw on the ball of his hand. “I thought age brought wisdom.”

“Nope.” Murr put down the partially eaten sandwich. He cleaned off his mouth and drowned out the taste clinging to his tongue with water. 

They box up the pulled pork, pay, and depart. It’s too late keep driving. Their full bellies are dictating sleep or dying. It’s a restless sort of night. One for wandering and doing things you’ll regret in the morning.

The mind is willing, but the body is not. So that’s when they kick the shit out of the body and tell it what to do. This town is small enough to get everywhere on foot, and they spend hours walking hand in hand, passing closed store after closed store. Circle around churches and through cemeteries. They are their own ghosts.

It’s either a park or an open field for any variety of sports. What matters is the soft grass and the warm earth below it. “I’ve never seen this many stars.” Quinn has a wide gaze and wonder spread across his features.

Murr is distracted by something closer to home than celestial beings burning in space. “Really breathtaking.”

“Yeah.” He pulls James close to him. His mind is quiet, too focused on the weight in his arms and the light in his eyes.

Murray uses Q’s chest as a pillow. “Do you want to get a room or sleep in the car?”

“Don’t bog down the moment like that, ya dope.” His arms clamp down and he shakes Murr for a couple seconds.

Laughter escapes in his struggle. Legs kicking arms pinned to his sides. Relief and disappointment fill him when Brian lets him go. “Why’d you stop?”

“I think I’d like to get a room.”


End file.
